All's Well That Ends Well
by Tchu-chan
Summary: Their frequent arguments over the years had really just been foreplay in disguise. My one-shot of Sharrkan x Yamuraiha, and how I envisioned them actually (finally!) getting together. Because let's be real, y'all know it's gonna happen sooner or later. Enjoy!


**All's Well That Ends Well**

_It always ends this way,_ Sharrkan thought to himself, lips burning a fiery trail over the plump, ivory cleavage of the woman in his arms. Through her sudden, shivering gasp, he heard her murmur the lilting words of the spell that would make their clothing disappear. Her hands tightened in his white, white hair urging him to follow her as she lay back against the soft, lavender sheets. As his lips and fingers closed over the pink tips of her now-bare breasts, pulling a cry from the blue-haired mage's throat, he closed his eyes. He remembered the first time he'd taken her like this, here in this very room.

She'd been angry with him—nothing new there. But she'd also been drinking, which was something she did infrequently. He'd been somewhat sober—well, compared to his usual post-celebration drunkenness, anyway. He couldn't really remember what they'd been arguing about—something stupid, no doubt. Given the festivities, probably she'd berated him for flirting with too many of the palace girls or some such.

He'd rolled his eyes, casually brushing her off. He was walking away when she'd grabbed his arm and yanked him around to face her. When he'd demanded what the hell she thought she was doing, Yamu'd just stared at him, fists clenched, face cherry red, chest heaving.

In that moment, she'd looked so adorable, he couldn't resist teasing her.

"You jealous?" he'd asked, leaning into her personal space and running his fingers through those silky, powder blue tresses. He'd accidentally-on-purpose brushed his knuckles along the upper curve of her breast, barely concealed by its rosy seashell covering.

"As if!" she'd snapped as she reared back, face even redder than before. He hadn't known that was possible.

So engaged was he in contemplation of her glorious fury, he hadn't moved quickly enough to dodge the hand she'd aimed at his cheek. The resounding slap turned his head, stinging handprint blooming on his face. Shocked by the blow, he could only stare at her as she turned on her heel and stormed off to her tower.

Had those been tears gathering at the corners of her lashes?

_ S__hit__!_

Recovering his wits, he'd followed after her, determined to figure out what the hell was going on. Over the years, they'd fought frequently and loudly over silly things—like which was stronger, magery or swordsmanship? But never once had he seen her cry. At least, not when he knew _he_ was the cause of her tears.

_Shit, shit, shit__!_

Taking the stairs in her tower two at a time, he'd shoved his boot in the doorframe, wedging it open just before she slammed it in his face.

"Yamuraiha! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

She'd struggled to close the door on him, but without use of her magic, he was much taller and stronger than she. After pushing against him futilely for a few moments, she gave up and turned away as he entered the room behind her. He let the door fall closed at his back.

"Yamu..." he'd tried again, more softly. Her back was hunched, arms hugging herself. Her long hair trailed forward over delicate collarbones, leaving her spine and pale shoulder blades above the yellow robe she wore exposed to his gaze. He swallowed.

_ Damn it all! Why did she __always __have to make him feel so...__so...__?_

He wasn't ready when she answered him.

"Just go away, Sharrkan," she'd told him, voice suspiciously thick. "Leave me alone."

"Not until you tell me why you're so upset." He moved closer to her. "Are you crying?" For some reason, that didn't sit well with him.

"No!" she denied, spoiling the effect by sniffling immediately afterwards.

"You are." He reached out a hand to her shoulder. Her skin was like porcelain, and the contrast between his own olive complexion and her fairness made him swallow again. She was soft under his fingers, but resisted when he tried to turn her to face him.

"Yamu, look at me."

She tensed under his hand and drew a breath as if gathering strength. Finally she whirled on him, arms crossed under her breasts. Her beautiful, ocean blue eyes were reddened.

Unable to resist, he touched light fingertips to her cheek. "See? You're crying. I want to know why."

Mutinously, she stared at him for a long moment before snapping, "Because you're such a jerk, that's why! Now get out!"

Throwing up her hands, she started pushing him bodily towards the door. He went willingly until his back hit the wooden surface. In the blink of an eye, he snatched her wrists and flipped their positions, pinning her to the door with his body. He wedged his knee in between her legs to keep her from wriggling away and she gasped.

"Not good enough, Yamu..." he breathed, inhaling her scent. She smelled like ocean breezes and the salt from her tears. "Tell me why."

She struggled in his grasp, doing anything she could to avoid his piercing green gaze. Sighing, he transferred her wrists to one hand and held them above her head while using his other hand to grasp her chin. Gently but firmly, he forced her to look at him.

"Tell me," he asked again.

Her breathing was much too fast as she glared at him, clenching her captive hands into fists. "Screw you!" she spat, straining against him, face red.

He stared down at her, furious and beautiful. "Only if you ask nicely," he drawled, pressing his thigh into her to gauge her response. She inhaled sharply and, shivering, arched towards him, erasing the smirk from his face, replacing it with a look that was far more feral. Feral and _hungry._

When her mouth dropped open in shock, he took advantage, swooping in to kiss her passionately, hand falling from her chin to the curve of her throat. His thumb teased the flesh there gently and she moaned into his mouth, eyes closing involuntarily as her body pressed into him. She tasted like sweet wine, and his tongue tangled with her own, making her pant against his lips as she tried to draw breath.

He was slightly surprised she hadn't used her magic to blast him into kingdom come for daring to touch her like this. He'd always been attracted to her; their frequent arguments just a symptom of the sexual tension thrumming between them. As she leaned into him more firmly, he felt his control slipping away.

"Yamu..." He drew her pouty lower lip into his mouth and sucked on it gently. When she moaned his name in a tone he'd _never_ heard from her, he knew he was done for.

_"__Sharr..."_

Letting go of her wrists, he slid his hand into the hair at her nape, tugging lightly until her head fell back. His other hand roved to the curve of her waist, clasping her tight against him. He was rigid with excitement and she gasped, letting her own fingers twine into his hair, pulling his lips to her throat.

He'd tried to take it slowly with her, really he had.

But she'd been like a wildcat that night, clawing at his clothing and his skin in equal measure. Finally, in frustration, she'd muttered a spell, making their clothes vanish, only to settle on a chair in a far corner of the room.

Drowning in the scent of her rising desire, he'd slid two fingers into her right then and there, stroking her insides, pink nipple in his mouth, left thigh held tight around his hip until she'd almost sobbed with the wanting. He hadn't been able to deny her when she'd pulled his hair and called his name, voice pleading.

Cupping her plush bottom in his hands, he'd lifted her and impaled her on his cock, right up against the door. She'd tensed and cried out—a pained cry, not the pleasurable one he'd been expecting—and for a moment, he'd frozen, stomach dropping.

"Yamu..." His mind spun. "Why didn't you _stop_ me? Tell me to slow down?" He'd held her anxiously, afraid to move. She'd tucked her face in against his throat, eyes wet with tears. Angrily, she blinked them away and tightened her legs around his hips. She'd shaken her head and kissed his slack mouth as he stared down at her, emerald eyes aghast at what he'd done.

"Just shut up and fuck me, Sharr," she'd told him.

And gods help him, when she moved against him insistently, he had.

He hadn't known she was a virgin. Although, if he weren't such an idiot, thinking with his dick whenever he was around her, he should have realized.

He thought she would hate him, afterwards.

But the next day, when he'd sought her out—he hadn't had the nerve to stay the night, although he'd made sure she felt good and was smiling before he left—she'd made a point to pick a fight over some trifling thing, just to put him at ease.

She really was too kind; he knew he absolutely didn't deserve it.

Which was why he was shocked when she cornered him late one night, nearly a month later, in a secluded nook of the library. Normally the library wasn't a place Sharrkan spent much time, but for whatever reason, he'd been antsy and unable to sleep. He and Yamu had argued again earlier that day at dinner, much to the wry, resigned amusement of their friends. But the image of her pouty lips and flushed face wouldn't leave his mind.

If he were completely honest, he'd been thinking about her almost nonstop since their earlier tryst. He'd fantasized about her often enough even before then, but now... Well, he desperately needed something to distract him. Old military histories and maps should serve the purpose nicely, and would also refresh his memory before the brewing conflict with the Kou Empire erupted.

He in no way thought he'd end up with his beautiful, furious mage straddling his lap. Even now, weeks later, with his lips traveling on a downward path to her center, he could hardly believe she was _his_ beautiful, furious mage.

The chair's lack of armrests that night proved to be an asset as Yamu once again whispered the spell to remove their clothing. He'd protested at first, trying to put her off, ashamed at the way he'd taken her virginity. The way he'd hurt her.

But she was having none of it.

Her mouth on his lips, and then on his cock had proven very persuasive.

He was weak to her, he knew. But he just couldn't help himself.

At least she had allowed him to pleasure her with his tongue and fingers first this time. He'd never forget the image of her beautiful body, spread out before him like a feast, amidst the books and scrolls on the table. Only once he'd brought her to climax, had he let her crawl onto his lap and slide down over his thick shaft, wet and oh-so-gloriously tight.

They'd both groaned, hard-pressed to keep quiet to avoid discovery. Somehow they'd managed, although Sharrkan, face buried in her breasts, arm a tight band at her back as he thrust up into her, had no idea how. She fit him perfectly, and her flushed and panting face as she rode him made the swordsman want to shout her name to the very rooftops. When he circled her clit with his thumb and she came, he'd swallowed her cries, then smothered his own against her shoulder, biting down lightly on her pale, smooth flesh.

She'd stroked his hair back from his face and kissed him softly before rising to dress. She'd gone back to her tower without another word, just a single, unreadable look in her luminous blue eyes. He hadn't known what it meant, and had been too afraid to ask. He didn't know what was growing between them, but he didn't want to spoil it with words—especially if she wasn't ready to talk.

After that, they'd taken to meeting more frequently, mere days in between encounters, rather than weeks. Yamu still decided the timings of their trysts, however. He'd been content to let her set the pace of...whatever it was they had. He could tell when she wanted him; she'd make a point of being deliberately obstinate at dinner or wherever he'd seen her earlier in the day. When he sat beside her—which he was doing more and more frequently—she occasionally leaned into him, or her knee touched his thigh, or she brushed his arm with the side of her breast while reaching across him for something. All deliberate actions on her part, he knew. Like a language she was slowly teaching him to read.

He was eager to learn, because without fail, a few hours later, she'd show up wherever he happened to be. Whether it was on the balcony overlooking the city—he'd bent her over the railing that time and taken her from behind, squeezing her breasts in his palms—in his room, on his bed, the floor, up against the wall (again), and even in the tub. They hadn't done it in her room in the tower since that very first time.

Until tonight.

He wondered if that was significant. _He'd_ been the one to seek her out this evening, after all. In his gut, he knew that action alone was significant, although at the moment, with her scent in his nose and on his tongue, he didn't quite understand why.

He just knew.

As his mouth reached her core and she sighed above him, fingers in his hair, he stopped thinking so hard and focused solely on her, writhing in pleasure underneath him. His magical goddess of the sea.

If this was how their fights always ended, he'd gladly argue with her every day for the rest of their lives.

XXX

_Why does it always end this way?_ Yamuraiha wondered bemusedly as Sharrkan traced a slow path kissing, licking, sucking—and occasionally, biting—down her body. Realistically, as much as they argued, she shouldn't be drawn to him like this. But the way his long, calloused fingers stroked over her most tender parts spoke as loudly to her as any argument they'd ever had. He touched her reverently at times, as though he were worshipping her flesh; animalistically at others, as if he wanted to dominate and devour her.

She couldn't get enough of him.

It had been like this ever since that night.

She'd known it was wrong of her to keep the knowledge of her virginity from him. She just hadn't wanted to spoil the moment; she'd only wanted to _feel._ Feel him inside of her, making love to her at long last. All those years of fighting had really just been foreplay in disguise. She'd been afraid he'd come to his senses and stop himself if she'd said anything. Sharr was funny like that sometimes, with his own code of honor.

And she _really_ hadn't wanted him to stop.

She'd just wanted him so badly in that moment, she hadn't given thought to how hurting her, even accidentally, would make him feel. She'd repented later, in the quiet of her room, after he'd retreated from her sanctuary. He'd done his best to make it up to her. The palace girls with whom she shared gossip hadn't lied; he knew his way around a woman's body. He'd put the knowledge to good use with her. Almost desperately so, as his worried green eyes took in her every shiver and sigh.

He'd brought her to orgasm twice before he'd left that night. In return, she'd done her best to act normally around him the next day. She hadn't wanted Sharr to feel guilty or regret anything they'd done. She'd desired it, after all. Desired _him._ She still did, gods knew.

She'd had some vague hope in the back of her mind that once she'd had him, his bright green eyes and smug smile would stop haunting her at night. She'd woken from extremely sensual dreams of him too many times over the last year. The night of the festival, with just enough wine in her system to make her bold—or reckless—she'd made her move. Although it hadn't gone exactly as she'd planned. With Sharr, things often went awry, either through his sheer stubbornness or her own.

But in the end, it had worked out, although her hope of getting him out of her system—a naive hope at best—never materialized. In fact, as the next few weeks passed, she found herself dreaming of him more than ever. Enough so that she'd awaken in the middle of the night and have to stimulate herself to completion if she wanted to get back to sleep. After the third night in a row of this, she'd sought him out in the library.

He'd protested at first, and she realized he still felt guilty over their first encounter. She hadn't let that stop her, however. She'd sensed his weakness to her in the way his pupils dilated when she leaned in close to kiss him, pressing her naked breasts against his chest. He'd sighed her name against her lips, unable to resist as she'd kissed a path down his chest to his rapidly stiffening manhood.

His body couldn't lie to her. He wanted her—as much as she wanted him.

This time, she'd let him prepare her, and the experience had been exquisite. When she left him, olive skin flushed as he'd gradually recovered his breath, she glanced back, wondering how she'd ever stop thinking about him now.

But of course, she'd never tell him that.

Their third encounter, she'd approached him on one of the high balconies overlooking the city. The lights at night were beautiful, and it was almost like one of her fantastical, sensual dreams when he stood behind her, nudging her legs wider apart so he could stroke her clit with his fingers. When he entered her, she'd arched her back, breasts pushing into his palms as he tugged and pinched the nipples. He'd mouthed her neck, warning her to be quiet, as sound carried easily in the thin air and anyone looking up would be likely to see them.

She'd tried to comply, gripping the railing as tightly as she could, but when he reached one of his hands down between her legs to stroke her as he pumped in and out of her body, she just couldn't hold back the moans. He'd resorted to thrusting two fingers into her open mouth, commanding her to suck.

She never thought the day would come when she'd obey an order he gave so willingly.

Still, it had worked. She had reached her peak, spasming around him; he'd followed quickly afterwards, and no one had discovered them as far as she knew. When she'd turned to leave him once again, he'd caught her wrist, holding her in place.

"What is this?" he'd asked, voice low, green eyes serious. "What are we doing?"

She'd stared at him, captured more by his glittering gemstone gaze than by his physical hold on her. She'd answered truthfully, "I don't know." A pause, then more softly, as if she were afraid of the answer, "Do you want to...stop?"

He'd searched her face, trying to read it. Read her. She wondered if he'd felt the trembling in her wrist. After a long moment, he'd simply snorted. "Hells, no. I can't get enough of you," he admitted with a wry grin. "I can't decide if I should be mad about that or not."

She'd smiled at him then. Leaning in for a kiss, she'd whispered, "Don't be mad." Then she'd shrugged herself back into her robe, gathered the rest of her clothing and left him standing there, still naked, in the warm night air. He'd been so beautiful, white hair shining against his olive skin under the moonlight. She almost hadn't been able to leave him.

After that, they'd found each other more and more frequently. She'd begun to crave his touch in a way she'd never thought possible. In some ways, being with him was so intense, so all-consuming, she was almost afraid of losing herself. Looking at his sharp, green orbs as he knelt between her spread legs, she wondered if he felt the same.

He'd come to _her_ tonight, she realized suddenly. It was the first time he'd done so.

She watched as he stretched out his tongue, locking eyes with her all the while, and began to work his magic on her body. When his fingers slid inside her, reaching for that wondrous spot that only he knew, her eyes closed involuntarily as she gave herself up to him, fully and completely.

If all their arguments ended this way, who was she to complain? As she cried out his name to the Heavens, passion wracking her body, she thought, before all sense left her, that she could go on with him like this forever.

After all, what better ending could there be?

The End

* * *

So I binge-watched Magi over the weekend and this is what fell out of my brain. I ripped off the title from Shakespeare's romantic comedy, _All's Well That Ends Well_, because it fit so perfectly and I couldn't think of a better one, ha ha. When I first saw these two characters arguing with each other in the anime, my first thought was, "Those two really wanna fuck!" lol So that's how this short fic happened. My brain is weird like that. I hope you enjoyed it!

To the reviewer of one of my other one-shots who asked me if I do requests and even gave me a plot to follow, the answer is, sadly, no. My writer's brain doesn't work that way. Stories come to me like mini-movies, and I put them down in words so I can finally stop obsessing about them. I do it mostly as an enjoyable side-hobby. Writing based on a specific request seems too much like unpaid work to me, lol. But thank you for asking. I'm happy to know you thought of me to write something you wanted to read. (For some reason, I wasn't able to reply to your review directly-maybe you had that setting turned off for your account?)


End file.
